


One's man shoes (may not be another's)

by davincescode



Series: Subject: Lost Number [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:41:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5223722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davincescode/pseuds/davincescode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration piece on the origin of Vincent Valentine's sabaton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One's man shoes (may not be another's)

    “…Third.”

            Silent exasperation when was mingled with a dollop of contempt   
            could neither have been more clearly rung or perceived   
            regardless of the quiet tone by which the word was spoken.

        “The third time within this month now, Valentine.   
          Do I need to remind you that we, the people here,   
          are running on a tight budget?” 

He did not raise a tone. He needed not to. When he speaks, he has a bad habit of expecting people to listen. Here or then: time makes no differences. Tap, sounded a single flick of his digits against the clipboard in his hand when the man finally turned toward the one he was addressing: me. By habit, he has both his arms soon fold behind his back. 

            He did not have to raise a tone   
            for me to notice the distinction he has put: 

                    we, the human    **&**    
                    me,  _something else_.

Much has distanced us now; and it went far beyond the simple exchanged attire from smart navy to that of laboratory’s greyish hue, or the cuffs on my wrists. He wouldn’t quite indulge in that fantasy so-called trust yet. I doubted he ever will. Still, what liberty he did give was enough to see me in one of the two chairs across his desk, lithe frame clearly slouching back in look that mirrors so closely the man I once was. 

    To him,   
    it would seem   
    that I was more interested   
    in the folding of a paper crane in my hands. 

            I was, actually. 

But he knew enough how to catch my attention. With one of the chair kicked away, the sudden provision of space was soon occupied by his form. With him partially reclining against the desk, the enclosing distance between his hips and my face became too close for comfort 

** &**   I look up. 

            “You know this cannot go on.”, he concluded. 

     _Ha._    
        Maybe you should have thought about that   
        before you raise me back   
         **&**    make me what I am today.    

            “I’d say…  
             a limiter,   
             much like those cuffs on your wrists now   
             just to hinder the movement.”, he continued. 

            The slow whirl of the pen in his hand made a chiding  
                 _tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, t a p,  t  a  p  ,   t   a   p_    
            sound against the clipboard   
            that only grew faster and   f a s   t   e    r   
            to the whirlwind that was his mind.  

     **&**    where else, I let my gaze roam even to the sole of my feet. Those look perfectly fine despite my little ‘run’ earlier may have caused the entire stonework floor to be replaced. Starting at brain, a command was sent toward those tiny toes to wiggle just to make sure that everything still functions just fine. 

I missed having my shoes. Hell, I would even take one of those soldiers’ boots now if I can. Still, the ‘ _guest_ ’ under his care may not be provided with such a privilege. 

I believed it was when he started to talk about ‘Adding some weight into those limiters…’ that my eyes began to wonder once more along the assort of collections lining along the counter’s top inside his office. Most seemed to make sense. The long disorganised line of test tubes, beakers and flasks soon gave way to books and… more books. At the other end of that never ending line stood one of those molecular model I once played with as a child. 

                        Had the presence of that model,   
                        in anyway,   
                        lessened his mental capacity in my eyes?   

        I think not.  

              The man was an idiot in many ways   
                   _but_    
              he was not so lost in the area of study he preached. 

              Besides,   
              that young Valentine had always been  _too_ smart   
              for a boy his own age.  

         ~~Much good it did you now.~~

On and on, absent-minded gaze continued to roam until something among his collected trinkets snatched at my attention. The items were unexpected for a man of his habits. He must have noticed my curio then for he had ceased talking. His own gaze deftly followed mine, a mirage of worn rusty metal soon found reflected upon his worn eyepiece.  

    “Ah”, he voiced. “Caught you interest that way, didn’t it? Some people said old relics were not worth keeping, but I find that some …past make us whom we are today.” If I had not known better, I could almost say there’s a passion in his voice, one of which burnt reflected in his dark beady eyes. Whatever it was, it was gone by the time he proceeded with his next statement, having assumed once more the lecturing tone he oft employed. “Sabatons, those are called, once belonged to knights and royal. It’s the different in the length of their pointy tips, you see, that marks a man’s status. I suppose many fools considered it a form of weapon.” Nearly absentminded, he raised his pen to tap once upon his lips. 

                     _– So,_ y _ou disagreed then?_  

He needed not retrieve those items to show me. He knew my visual was good enough to observe the details etched into those old  metal even from this side of the room. 

          “– Make me one of those then.   
          Wear it over some fucking boots   
          or as a part of those boots –  
          I don’t really care.”   
          It’s the first time my voice echoed through the room.

With claret irises averted down toward the paper crane in my hand, A small pecking motion was ushered by a pull at its tail. Marvel is a man’s mind for even from a simple paper construction, certain mechanics can still be introduced. But it was also by something else my thought was plagued. “And something to match this hideous arm.” The latter sounded closely akin to a whisper. But as he was aware of the arm I mentioned, I knew he has picked up those words. 

On his desk, I left the paper crane before a presence of two guards saw to my exit.

    “You did not take your crane.”,   
    his gruff voice was swift to remind as I approached the door. 

            “Keep it.   
             For the service rendered.” 

As the door fell close behind me, I believed I heard the sharp sound of his mirth.

 


End file.
